Death by the Riverside

by J. M. Redmann; Jean M. Redmann

  “I thought you were the one who wasn’t ready. Is she waiting for you?” Barbara asked.

  “Well…no,” I had to admit. “As a matter of fact, she’s been living with some woman for,” I had to stop and think, “for over a year now.”

  “Micky, people move on with their own lives whether we want them to or not.”

  I suddenly felt very lonely. Barbara was right. I had always dismissed Danny’s lovers because it had been convenient for me to. I knew that she was looking for someone to love her and live with her, but I never thought she’d find anyone. And…and leave me. That was why I was lonely. I had done something that I despise in other people, I had assumed that she saw the world the way I did. That if I was a cynic about love, then she was. That if I didn’t want a joint checking account and a queen size bed, then she didn’t either. Danny was gone, long gone, and I hadn’t even noticed. I had taught her Kant, drilled her on his philosophy over and over again that semester, and now I was the one had who flunked the real test.

  And worse, I was stuck here about to be killed (and Danny wouldn’t even gloat about being right about that) and would probably never get the chance to make it up to her. What good is gaining insight into yourself if you can’t show it off? Or at least apologize for the things you’ve messed up?

  “Yes, you’re right,” I answered Barbara. She probably thought I had fallen asleep on her. Well, one of us had. I could hear her rhythmic breathing in the background. I was glad she was asleep. It was a much better way to pass the time than listening for rat sounds and trying to figure some way out of here.

  I dozed fitfully, disturbed by dreams, which I could remember only in snatches. One of running, running down a dark street, only to turn a corner and find the same street still in front of me, demanding that I run down it again.

  Chapter 10

  When I woke, I had no idea what time it was. I did, unfortunately, know where I was, due to the pain in my shoulders and arms and the stinging in the raw places on my wrists. I guess I must have jerked awake, because I heard Barbara’s breathing pattern change, become more shallow, then she woke up, too.

  “Good morning, I think,” I said.

  “Shit, are we still here?” It was the first unladylike word that I had heard Barbara say. “I was so hoping this was a bad nightmare.”

  “So was I,” I said. Then we heard footsteps. Reality had arrived.

  “Shit,” Barbara said again.

  “Maybe it’s the police,” I said, being an unreasonable optimist.

  First the trap door opened, then I heard the bolt being thrown back on the cellar door. If it was the police, they certainly knew their way around the place.

  Goon boy and friends. The basement light seemed very bright after the hours of pitch dark.

  “Bring them up,” called Milo’s voice from the top of the stairs. “I want to talk to them.”

  Goon boy was grunting over the knots. He finally got them loose. My hands started throbbing from the flow of blood. Everything hurt as I stood up. Barbara would have collapsed if I hadn’t caught her.

  Goon boy motioned us up the stairs. It was very early morning, barely gray and still dewy with a chill in the air.

  Milo was sitting in the front parlor in the best of the rickety chairs. Turner and two other men I hadn’t seen before were also there.

  “Good morning, have a pleasant night, ladies?” Milo asked with a sneer.

  “No,” I answered, forgetting that I was supposed to be a bimbo.

  “Too bad. Now, Barb, do you remember where that notebook got to?” he asked as he stood up and started to pace.

  “What book?” she asked.

  “Don’t play games with me, bitch,” he exploded. I realized that we weren’t the only people in trouble. Milo was, perhaps literally, under the gun. We may have taken the notebook, but he had let it get taken. He had to get it back. Milo was not a man who took pressure very well, it seemed. Somehow I doubted he was in charge of this, he was too nervous and high-strung. Also nowhere near smart enough.

  “Where is it?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Barbara answered truthfully.

  Milo made a tense motion to Turner. He backhanded me across the jaw. I had seen it coming and had tensed my jaw and rolled with the punch, but it was bad enough. I could feel the drip of blood down my chin.

  “You want to watch your friend get hurt? You want to hurt her? Tell me where it is and it’ll all be over.”

  “I don’t know,” she said in a cracked whisper, as if noise itself would be painful. She shook her head.

  Milo was losing his temper. He grabbed her jacket and started shaking her.

  “Goddamn it, tell me where that fucking book is!” he shouted. She was crying, but she still shook her head no. Then he punched her in the stomach. She made a low grunting noise and doubled over. I started to move, but Turner stepped in front of me.

  “Okay, we’ll do it your way,” Milo said. He grabbed Barbara’s hair and pulled up her head to make her watch. “Turner.” He gave the go-ahead.

  Turner smiled. Then he licked his lips. He was looking forward to this. He cracked his knuckles, then took a few practice swings. I ducked, making him think that I was a very easy target. Then he pulled back for a third time and I knew that this was the real one by the way his muscles tensed. Turner was not a good fighter; he was big and mean and with brass knuckles and a gun, he got by. But he was off balance and exposing a lot of vulnerable areas.

  He threw a punch that would have done damage if it had landed. But I blocked it, grabbing his fist and pulling him off balance. Without a break, I stepped in, smashed my elbow into him and broke his jaw. It snapped with a loud crack. He didn’t even have time to look surprised before his face collapsed.

  For a moment, no one in the room knew what happened, until Turner went to the floor and made a noise that sounded like a whimper. I figured I’d better take advantage of the confusion.

  “You fucked up, Milo,” I said, making clear I was in no way, shape, or form a bimbo. “Barbara had nothing to do with it. You want the book back? I’ll make a deal with you. You get the notebook, no hassle, if she goes free. We get in the car and drive to the city. You drop Barbara off somewhere far enough from a phone to suit yourself. Then I’ll lead you to that book.”

  Milo stopped pacing for a moment, instead jangling coins nervously in his pocket. “I can beat it out of you,” he finally replied.

  “No, you can’t,” I shot back.

  “Yes, I can.” Right, Milo, anything you can do I can do better.

  “Not in time to do you any good,” I answered, which was true and he knew it. Even if there were nobody to report me missing, someone had certainly reported Barbara a long time ago. They didn’t know that I had alerted the police and that Ranson and crew might even now be tearing Jambalaya Import and Export apart. But they were paranoid enough to worry. Mobsters have too many enemies, not just the police but rival gangs.

  “You’re bluffing,” Milo said.

  “Uh, Milo?” The driver came in. He was carrying a top-of-the-line cellular phone. He handed it to Milo.

  I watched Milo listen, his attentiveness to the caller confirming which of them was in charge. Milo was finally allowed to give a quick rundown of what was happening here. Then he was listening again. After a moment he fixed me with a hard glare.

  “So your name’s Knight, huh?” he demanded.

  I shrugged. It wasn’t really a question.

  “A P.I., huh?” Again, not really a question. “Bitch,” he added, a comment, I gathered, on my having so easily mislead him. “The driver has got to go back to town. He’ll take Barb with him. After we get the book back, he’ll let her go,” Milo informed me, obviously on his boss’s orders.

  “What guarantee do I have that you’ll let her go?”

  “None,” he answered. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

  That not being possible, I tried to think of something else. What would appe
al to a rabid rat? Turner moaned loudly.

  “Shut him up,” Milo said. One of the goons slapped Turner. It did little to quiet him.

  “Take it or leave it,” Milo said to me. He took his gun out of his coat and aimed it at Barbara. “But don’t waste my time.”

  “All right, I agree.” I had no choice.

  Turner groaned noisily.

  Milo nodded and with no change in his manner, he moved his hand slightly and pulled the trigger. The report from the gun was very loud in the still dawn. Turner grabbed his chest and pitched forward.

  “Sorry, Turner,” Milo said calmly. “You can’t get your jaw broken and be on parole. Too many messy questions at the hospital and from your parole officer. Let this be a lesson to you, boys,” he pontificated. “Don’t let any broad break your face.”

  There was the sickening, wet wheezing sound of air and blood mixing. Turner was gasping through his broken jaw. Barbara turned her face from the scene; she looked very pale and frail. I put my arms around her and held her. She started to gag. The air in the room seemed to change, the smell of a dying man overcoming the wet, dirty odor of decay.

  Milo motioned to the driver, who led Barbara away from me and out to the yard. I heard her vomit outside.

  “Make sure she’s finished before you let her in the car,” Milo instructed. “Cleaning bills ain’t cheap these days.”

  “It won’t take long,” I said. “She hasn’t had anything to eat since lunch yesterday.”

  “Now, Miss Private Eye Knight, who do you work for?” Milo asked.

  “It’s an hour drive to New Orleans. Surely you don’t expect me to tell you anything before then,” I replied.

  Milo repeated my answer into the phone.

  “Let me work her over for the next hour. I might knock it down to forty-five minutes,” he told his boss.

  “I made a deal,” I said, loud enough for the unseen caller to hear. “In an hour, I’ll talk.”

  Milo was listening again. He mumbled a few sputtered explanations. Evidently Mr. Big found some fault in his handling of the situation. Milo finally said, “Okay, I’ll be there. And don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” He turned off the phone. “Take her downstairs and tie her up.” He added, “I’ll be back,” to me.

  Goon boy led me back to my favorite rat-infested basement and tied me to the stake, then I heard the slamming of the doors and the room was dark again. A car drove away in the distance.

  But goon boy was not the expert in marlinespikemanship that Turner was. By maneuvering my arms up the column a bit I was able to bring my hands closer together and get some slack in the rope. It took me some time and a bloody wrist, but I managed to work myself free.

  By groping in the dark, I found my purse and the small pocket flashlight that I always carry. Let there be light. The next thing I pulled out was my gun. Then I started looking around the basement.

  It was basically a hole in the ground in which junk had been deposited. There was a pile of boxes covered by dust and spiderwebs stacked against one wall. Against another wall was an assortment of furniture that made the stuff upstairs look like the finest D.H.Holmes had to offer. I was afraid that any second now my flashlight beam would discover the shackles used on slaves. I didn’t like the idea of tortured ghosts in here with me. But only a blackened brick wall appeared in my light.

  The basement was odd shaped. The wall on the other side of the door went back at a ninety-degree angle into another section of the basement, like a square added to the rectangle.

  I explored back in that direction, hoping that that wasn’t where the killer rats were hiding. More junk and broken furniture appeared in my circle of light. There was a large pile of lumber and some old broken doors in what I guessed to be an outside corner. Something scurried away from my light. Probably just a little mouse, I told myself. Dark, dank basements always make sounds seem much louder than they really are.

  Just to prove to myself that I wasn’t scared of any field mouse, I decided to look behind the doors. I lost my footing for a moment stepping over the lumber in my work pumps. That didn’t do much for my rating on the Butch-o-Meter. I pulled the last door away from the wall, first shining my light on the floor, just in case any cute, little, adorable rodent should be in the vicinity. A number of insects, but nothing mammalian. As I looked up, my flashlight illuminated something very interesting. Two rusty hinges attached to a metal door, maybe two feet by three. It was a very dusty black, evidently a coal chute. And it looked wide enough for me to fit in. Eureka! I remembered seeing a pile of old clothes somewhere. If I was going to be climbing up coal chutes, it might be a prudent idea to change out of my, so far, only slightly tarnished blue dress. I stumbled back over the lumber to the other side of the basement, where I found what I was looking for. I took off my dress, slip, and panty hose, and folded them into my purse, which I hid in one of the bottom boxes. If I couldn’t get out of the coal dump, maybe I could hide there and make them think that I had gotten away. Before putting on my new clothes, I went over to a corner and peed. Get the bodily functions out of the way now, instead of having to go while I’m fighting the bad guys. Then I tried on my new ensemble. A pair of holey jeans a size too big and a moth eaten T-shirt, also too big. I scavenged a length of rope for a belt and rolled up the pants cuffs. I decided against shoes. My slick pumps wouldn’t be much use any place I might be going in the next few hours. Besides, their navy blue color clashed with the faded blue of my jeans.

  I wanted to get into the coal chute without dislodging the old doors too much. I didn’t need a flashing light signaling where I’d gone. First, I had to get the chute door open. It probably hadn’t been moved for decades. The first inch was easy, the hinges were that loose. It screeched protest the rest of the way, and covered everything, including myself, with coal dust. I could only get it to open a little above horizontal, so that the door pointed up at about forty-five degrees from the wall, which solved my old door problem. I could lean them against the coal chute door and still have room to crawl into it. As long as goon boy and friends didn’t search the basement with floodlights, they would probably never notice.

  The only thing now was to squeeze myself in and hope that I didn’t run into any nasty crawling things. I wished I had a bandanna to cover my face with. I was still coughing from the dust kicked up by opening the coal chute door.

  I put my gun in my rope belt, then covered it with a wad of T-shirt to keep dust out of it. I tentatively put my head inside and flashed the light up the shaft. What I saw was more dirt and spiderwebs than I ever thought existed in the state of Louisiana. All in that shaft that I had to climb up.

  I heard a car door slam. Damn, Milo had bad timing. I switched off my flashlight and put it in my pocket, then slid my shoulders into the shaft. I braced my elbows against the sides and pulled my torso in. Then I put one foot on the edge of the opening and pushed the rest of me up. The metal felt cold and sharp against my bare feet. I braced my elbows again, then my feet and lifted myself up a couple of inches. All that was supporting me was the pressure of my arms and legs against the sides of the shaft. I couldn’t look up, even if there was something to see, because of all the dirt and dust. I heaved myself up another couple of inches so that my feet were above the top of the opening.

  I paused for a moment to listen. I didn’t want to be struggling noisily in here when they were in the basement.

  Then I heard it. Off in the distance. A shot. Milo, I told myself, it had to be Milo. The powers that be got tired of his bungling and brought him back here to be shot. I thrust myself up again, then again, before I remembered that I needed to be quiet when they came into the basement. I stopped, hanging suspended in the dark, dusty air.

  The trap door was opened, then footsteps on the stairs. The bottom door opened. I heard some very gratifying cursing. Then the footsteps ran up the stairs and there was more yelling. I chanced hauling myself up the shaft another foot or so. Then more voices and more feet down the stair
s. They were yelling and throwing the broken furniture around. They were making enough noise to allow me to continue inching my way up. If they tore up every inch of the basement, they would find this shaft. I didn’t want them to find me in it. Something started crawling on my neck. I didn’t dare shake it off. I couldn’t risk making too much noise, or worse, losing my hold and sliding back down. I just had to hope that it wasn’t a black widow. I gained another few inches with whatever it was still on my neck. Finally it crawled away, perhaps off me, more likely onto my shirt or my hair. Then my elbow landed on a nail. I almost jerked it back, but my foot started to slip. I pushed my elbow into the nail, ignoring the pain. There was more crashing and cursing in the basement. I moved myself up a few inches more and got my elbow off the nail. I vaguely wondered if there was any possible way that I was current on all my immunizations, like tetanus. Ignoring my bleeding elbow, I slid up a little farther.

  My head ran into something. Since I didn’t have a free hand, I wiggled a little closer and turned my head so I could feel whatever it was with my cheek. Wood. Cheek to cheek with a board.

  I inched myself farther up, so that during the next big crash in the basement, I could thrust against the wooden covering. I hoped it was very rotten.

  Hanging suspended, trying not to cough, I listened to the search in the basement. Finally, I was rewarded with a muffled “Look out” and the sound of a bed frame and springs falling over. I hurled myself up at the cover.

  Bless Mother Nature, with her rust and rot. The wood itself held, but the rusted hasp easily pulled out of the rotted wood. I flung one arm over the edge, and, adding a number of scrapes and bruises, pulled myself out and into the dawn.

  I quickly looked around, ignoring my throbbing knees and elbows. I didn’t want to be staring down anyone’s gun barrel.

  Fortunately, plants grow very well around here. With no one to cut them back, vine-covered azalea and oleander plants had surrounded the chute opening. No one was around. I carefully closed the door, so that no light would show if anyone looked in, then I took my gun out of my rope belt and clicked the safety off.